Wilford
by Rye-bread
Summary: Minerva Mink; beautiful, vain, and shallow; or so she seems. She is every male's fantasy and will be no man's acquisition Wilford B. Wolf; hopelessly smitten and hopelessly nerdy. Can each look beyond surface appearances to find what both truly yearn for? Can two mismatched lovers work their way past their differences?
1. Chapter 1

Minerva Mink; beautiful, vain, and shallow; or so she seems. She is every male's fantasy and will be no man's acquisition Wilford B. Wolf; hopelessly smitten and hopelessly nerdy. Can each look beyond surface appearances to find what both truly yearn for? Can two mismatched lovers work their way past their differences?

I'm a typical shallow male. I like what is obliquely referred to as fanservice.

Having said that, there have been ample (pardon the pun) characters in the history of animation that project sensual appeal. Prominent among them are Tex Avery's Red Hot Riding Hood, Max Fleischer's Betty Boop, and Disney's Jessica Rabbit.

Which brings us to the character who has had what has been called the shortest run in animation history because of her overt sexual expression: Minerva Mink. She's a character on Warner Bros. Animaniacs. She guest-appeared in Hercule Yakko and the full-length feature, Wakko's Wish. She had only two of her own features, Meet Minerva and Moon Over Minerva. With her flowing blonde hair and buxom figure, she is patterned after actress Marilyn Monroe. The recurring trope is that males of every male who beholds her, of every mammalian, avian, reptilian, amphibian, and invertebrate species, goes berserk with desire. And she shines them on. Minerva, on the other hand is seeking to snare a rich and / or handsome husband / boyfriend; unluckily, her wishes are thwarted as often as those of her potential suitors.

This story is based off her second feature, Moon Over Minerva. In brief, poor geeky Wilford B. Wolf is crushing on her, and keeps asking her for a date…which she, of course, customarily rejects. The tables are turned when it develops that Wilford is a werewolf who turns into a hunk every full moon, and

Minerva goes crazy alternatively chasing the virile Wilford, and spurning the geeky Wilford.

Moi, however, in his overdramatic POV, perceives the kernel of a sweet love story under the comedy of errors. It is on that premise that our story proceeds. The story will go in some serious directions; I've tried, though, for some ironic humor. How good am I at the broad Animaniacs humor? Not very, I'm afraid.

Animaniacs is the brainchild of Steven Spielberg and the property of Warner Bros.; or visa versa. Virile

Wilford, by the way, is based on the hunky celeb and romance novel cover male model, Fabio.

_**Wilford **_

_**chpt 1**_

_**that full moon night; his POV**_

It was the morning after the full moon; or, as it was sometimes referred to, a Lycanthropic Episode.

The post-episode symptoms varied widely. Sometimes, he felt clearheaded and invigorated. Today, he felt like he had been on a bender. And for Wilford B. Wolf, who rarely drank anything stronger than something heavily caffeinated…to stay awake for long computer sessions…that was unheard-of. But his heart was buoyant on this glorious morning.

The evening before had begun terribly. He mourned his failure to successfully court the girl of his dreams, Minerva Mink. There he sat, dejected, at the edge of the valley, watching what should've been a glorious romantic sunset. He felt the Transformation coming on. He lifted up his head and bayed at the moon. He thought about casting himself off the top of the valley, but it wasn't a precipitous cliff; it was a gently rolling, grassy-covered hillside. He would've landed with a soft thud facedown on the sod…typically undignified…and probably lost his glasses in the bargain. That was one minute…

…The next minute, it was already dark; the moon momentarily obscured by the scudding clouds. He heard a soft voice behind him. And there , as he turned to see, was a vision of loveliness, his goddess, Minerva, clad like in a curvy-something, modeling for him.

"_Sorry for the delay, lover boy. I wanted to slip into something more…comfy; you like?"_ she had purred seductively, twirling herself temptingly.

And he had no idea why the same high-maintenance girl who had earlier spurned him should now be vying for his attention, or what she meant by a delay. But it turned his head like a sudden screech of car brakes. So he responded with typical uncomplicated candor and admiration. _"You look peachy, Minerva; simply peachy."_

Like the flick of a switch, she had changed from sweet to sour. _"__**You?! **__What are __**you **__doing here? And where did __**he **__go?" _And she raced around in a mad rush, calling out _"Yoo hoo! Lover Boy!"_

There was a strange blackout moment…and he found himself standing in front of Minerva, under a big oak tree. She wore a very blissful expression on her face…and the sudden change in demeanor came again. She looked at him, shocked. Then her eyes turned up in her head, and she fainted dead away. He was too stunned to even catch her.

Then came another blurring of consciousness…and suddenly, he felt a viselike grip around his neck, and a pleasant tingling sensation on his lips…no, it was more like sizzling…waves of sizzles that radiated from like his lips like radar and suffused his whole self, from head to toe to tail tip.. Minerva's sweet eau de lilac fragrance (he knew them all by heart) filled his nostrils. And her lovely face was mashed up next to his. He saw every perfect feature under the bright full moon…her pert little nose, her delicate eyelashes, and the hair of spun gold that framed the perfect face. He further became aware that he was cradling her in his arms.

He couldn't help himself. In a fit of exhilaration, he broke off the kiss and broke out with an unrestrained howl of triumph that rang to the skies…

…And suddenly the spell was broken. Minerva's eyes flew open and again widened in shock. She flew out of his arms like the springing of a mousetrap.

She stared at her arms in disbelief, as though she had come to and found herself touching something ugly. Then she looked at him with the same expression.

And he noticed that what he had taken to be moonlight was really sunlight. Realization came flooding in. Under the Full Moon, his Other Self had come forth, and had been romancing Minerva.

Crossing her arms, she turned away from him in indignation, and, holding his hands behind his back, he turned away from her in shame. He could never forgive himself.

"Wilford," she said, in a resentful tone of voice, "Just what kind of crazy wolf are you anyway?"

"Were-," he muttered curtly, barely audible, eyes cast downward, and feet shuffling. He would've said more, but felt too morose to engage on a long explanation.

"Were-?" she said, sounding pleasantly surprised. "You're a werewolf?"

He shrugged resignedly. "Yup."

"Wilford?" There was a new note in her voice. He knew it well. It was the suggestive 'come-hither' tone of voice. She turned, peering provocatively over her shoulder, and batting her long eyelashes. "When is the next full moon gonna be?"

He started to explain. And, like an eager student, she took a seat on a rock and gave him her undivided attention.

He positively warmed to the occasion. Producing a sky chart and pointing stick, he thoroughly explained the moon's orbit, phases, and the differences between the lunar and solar calendars.

She sat attentively, with her hands folded primly on her knees, and her big expressive eyes seeming to take in every detail.

He was hard-pressed to keep his mind on his presentation. His eyes kept straying from the sky map to her face, and from her face to her bosom. Her evening gown neckline was low-cut and strapless, and what he saw from his perspective was more awe-inspiring than a newly-discovered supernova.

As he concluded, she demurely raised a hand. He thought for a moment how privileged any teacher would feel to have such a petite hand attired in such a lovely arm-length formal glove in response to a lecture.

"So, you're saying that the lunar month is shorter than the regular month on the calendar," she said.

"Yes," he answered. He was gratified. She had been paying attention. It wasn't often that the people he tutored seemed so conscientious. But then, it wasn't often that he tutored someone who so thoroughly engaged his attention.

"And the next full moon is in…"

"Twenty-eight days."

She smiled bewitchingly. "Good things are worth waiting for." With the grace of a ballerina, she got to her feet an d smoothed out her gown. The way she ran her hands from above her waist down her hips and the sides of her torso made his corpuscles circulate like race cars through his blood vessels. "Wilford?' she asked intimately, batting her eyes and pursing her lips.

"Yes, Minerva?" his throat suddenly turned dry.

She fussed with his bow tie. "Could we do this again? You and me? At the next full moon?"

Wilford B. Wolf had no idea what he said in response to Minerva's offer. He had no idea how he got home that morning. All he remembered was that she gave him a final peck on the lips, and a breathy departing promise.

…"I'll be waiting."

For all he knew, he flew home, flapping his arms. He had seen similar feats impossible to physical science and mathematics accomplished by love-stricken men who had had happened to glance in Minerva's direction. And she had favored him with much more than a glance.

_**to be continued**_


	2. Chapter 2

This was square one of my tale. This was where I began composing. If there's anything that drives fan-writers, it's the relationshipping. We correct the defects and the oversights of the stories we're drawn to. We fix what's wrong and supplement what's right; which is a totally arrogant attitude regarding the source material, assuming we can improve on the original. If a written story is good enough to be published and widely enjoyed, then the writer must have some talent and insight. But within the parameters of fan-fiction, it is permitted to play fast and loose. And there is nothing more appealing, in my opinion, than two people drawn together in spite of themselves.

The question occurred to me during the initial writing; who is the more superficial? Is it Minerva, who wants a handsome husband with rich parents, or Wilford, who is attracted by purely sensual appeal? And am I being wearily moralizing for posing the question? All will be made plain. The purpose of any story at last one with some kind of redemptive framework, is for the characters to grow

_**Wilford**_

_**chpt. 2**_

_**that full moon night, her POV**_

It had been the most confusing night of her life. Minerva Mink had put up all day with Wilford B. Wolf's clumsy attempts at wooing her.

Actually, it was rather sweet; at least the handful of limp posies was. She put him off the way she usually did with annoying suitors. She put on her best sensual breathy voice and batted her big flirty eyelashes.

She had to admire Wilford's self-control. Most males went into seizures when she turned on the charm. They did appalling things to themselves, like popping their eyeballs out of the sockets, issuing steam from their ears, practically pulling their tongues or ears off, breaking into fragments, inflicting great bodily harm, or otherwise enduring incredible physical distension. And on top of that, their significant others usually beat the daylights out of them. Wilford only mumbled unintelligibly and melted into a pile of goo.

She had to be careful. Sympathy for him was dulling her killer instinct and taking the edge off her game. She found herself moderating her influence on him. She actually bestowed a couple extra caresses of the hand and flick of the tale, out of sympathy. She could well inoculate him against her charms.

She had to give the guy credit. Of all the dozens of males of numerous species who came on to her, stalked her, tried to trap, abduct, solicit, or otherwise harass her, Wilford was far and away the most courteous, considerate, and consistent. He never failed to compliment her. His gifts were small and sensible, not extravagant or laden with double meaning. Wilford accorded Minerva something she rarely got from males; respect.

But the stupid serenade while she was showering; it interrupted her little tune and her self-commiseration over her continual failure to find a romantic attachment worthy of her.

It was an ear-splitting racket with the bass drum and cymbals. At least he didn't blow the saxophone; thank Heaven for small favors. And the xylophone he played between his ankles; puh-leeeze. In retaliation, she turned a fire hose on him. She even activated the Extreme 'Toon Response Mechanism she had gotten from Acme Distributors, and dropped a fire hydrant and a hook and ladder truck on him. And he finally got the message.

Minerva gussied herself up that evening. There was no place to go or no one to go with, but it was just some 'me' time for her; it felt nice to imagine there was a reason to dress formal.

But Wilford struck…again. As Minerva assuaged her broken heart with getting fancy, Wilford consoled himself by baying at the moon. And it got on her last nerve.

Wolves had that way about them. It was a haunting sound, the baying of the wolves. It never failed to give Minerva delicious shivers. It was an ancient feral sound, and awakened ancient feral stirrings within her. It harkened back to an untamed undomesticated past. If it were anyone but Wilford, she might even consider dating the one baying. So she dressed down in her denim shorts and crop top, and went out to give him the most scathing tongue-lashing she could administer…only to find the most alluring strapping robust wolf she had ever laid eyes on.

His pelt was the color of blueberries. In deep shadow, it was an Egyptian blue. His hair and tail were as flowing as hers. Under the glimmer of the full moon, it had a silvery sheen. The broad shoulders were slumped, as though in dejection. The words of her sharp retort, intended for another, "Wilford B. Wolf…!" were already out of her mouth. At the sound, he turned…

…He loomed over her like a colossus. Her jaw went slack. He was an Adonis; an Apollo; a Hercules. Those thighs; those abs; those pectorals; those shoulders; those arms. He spoke, calling her by name. That voice, as cultivated as an aristocrat's.

At the sight of him, Minerva had behaved almost as extremely as most males did when beholding her. Her tongue lolled. Her eyes bugged out. She panted. She muttered; "Humina…humina…humina…humina…" She did handsprings and backflips. She yelped with delight. She practically yodeled. She had to slap herself to regain her composure.

And so began a night as confusing as any Shakespearean play of mistaken identity, cross purposes, mistiming, and bad judgment. She begged his indulgence while she rushed back and got on her best gown. Then he kept disappearing and reappearing. In his place, like a changeling child, kept reappearing Wilford. She made frantic pantomimes, trying to describe the mysterious one's appearance; big height, big shoulders, bodybuilder physique. And while Wilford stared bewildered, she ran helter-skelter over the countryside, searching behind saplings, dunking her head in streams, babbling rhymes from Blind Man's Bluff, looking for her elusive paramour.

She would faint from bliss at seeing him seemingly materialize before her when the clouds obscuring the full moon scudded away. And a moment later, when she regained consciousness, she would faint in disappointment as seeing Wilford in the same spot.

Fate was finally kind to her; or so it seemed at first. She awoke to find herself in the big guy's arms. Without hesitation, she gloomed onto his neck and gave him a scorching kiss. She wouldn't let him get away again; not that he seemed interesting in going anywhere else; she just wanted to make sure she didn't lose him again.

Minerva was exhausted by sunrise. The kiss must've lasted for at least an hour and a half

There she was; one moment in the arms of her newfound man, the next moment, in Wilford's arms, staring up at him. She was completely flabbergasted She couldn't jump out of his arms fast enough. With stuttering and more pantomimes, she demanded to know what was going on.

Thoroughly cowed, his ears and tail drooping like a whipped cur, Wilford revealed his great secret. Minerva stared at him in disbelief. She half wanted to clout him for "toying with her heart", and half wanted to hug him out of sympathy. Common sense and a shred of decency prevailed. And a little glimmer of hope flared to life in Minerva Mink's heart.

Fate usually tricked her the way she usually tricked her pursuers and would-be suitors. But this time, it seemed to be cutting her a deal. Instead of a loser like Vinnie, who would tease her with good looks, and then insult her to her face and take her for everything she was worth, or a prick like Mau Mau who actually abused and threatened her, here was a decent guy who adored her madly. There was no reason they both shouldn't come away getting what they wanted; provided she was willing to wait.

She thought about it afterward.

Most men, when not going berserk over her, either objectified her, dismissed her, exploited her, or even tried to do her bodily harm. Trudy's cousin Vinnie insisted on freeloading off her for their date, and then called her a "yutz" when he provoked the same usual hysterics that she caused in other men.

Wilford apologized for dashing her expectations. And then he patiently and boringly explained how he would change again in twenty-eight days. He gave a typical nerdy lecture, complete with pull-down astronomical sky chart and pointer stick.

Any other male might have taken advantage of Minerva while she was in a faint. It had happened before. Wilford only took her up in her arms. There was no doubt about it; Wilford B. Wolf was a class act.

"Yes, Wilford," she said demurely. "I'll go out with you."

For a moment, he looked like he might suffer another meltdown. "Er…uh…oh…when…oh…uh…er…would you like to….uh…" It was getting uncomfortably long for him to complete the sentence.

She mercifully cut it short. "At the next full moon." So saying, she tenderly caressed him with her tail, grasped both his cheeks firmly with both her hands, and gently but resolutely kissed him squarely on the lips; a prolonged, lingering kiss. "Mmmmmmmm-muah!" And she batted her big flirty eyelashes again.

His red bow tie twirled again "Oh boy…oboy-oboy oboy-oboy-oboy," he mumbled. His ears began to flap, and he actually floated out of her sight.

She sighed dreamily…and hardly got to her hollow log bungalow. She stumbled with weariness. She got out of her gown and laid it over a chair. She didn't bother with a nightgown. She got under her covers and wrapped herself in her luxurious stole-like tail. Giggling contently, she was gently snoring in a moment.

_**to be continued**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Wilford**_

_**chpt. 3**_

_**the morning after; a phone call from mom**_

By the time Wilford got home, the sun was well above the horizon, and even above the tree line of the forest. As was his custom following the monthly Full Moon Night, he went to bed at once, slept like a rock, and woke up in a couple hours invigorated and refreshed.

As was also customary following a lycanthropic episode, he was ravenous. His usual sensible healthy breakfast consisted of a bowl of hot porridge, grapefruit half, glass of lowfat milk, and glass of fruit juice; he rotated the selection of juice; cranberry, tomato, or orange; and he topped it off with his vitamin pills. On mornings like this, the usual sensible breakfast was supplemented with a stack of a dozen pancakes drowning in maple syrup, two dozen eggs…scrambled, over easy, over well, a dozen bacon strips, a dozen sausage links, a dozen sausage patties, two cantaloupe, a half-dozen bananas, a box of granola cereal, a box of sugary cereal, and heaping glasses of all three juices. And no vitamin pills. And both the inner carnivore and inner herbivore would feel fully sated. He belched loudly, an uncharacteristic act for him. He looked around embarrassedly, with the thought that Minerva, high-class lady that she was, would find it crass.

The expected phone call came a the expected moment.

"Hello. This is Wilford B. Wolf speaking," he said, in his usual polite tone.

"Good morning, Wilford."

"Oh…hello, Mom; it's you."

"Yes, dear, it's me.. I'm just making my usual weekly inquiry into the life of my eldest son, the more timely because that time of the month."

"Yes, ma'am. I understand."

"Dear? You don't sound your usual self. Is everything okay?"

Wilford sighed. Mom could discern everything. "Yeah, Mom. Everything's fine."

He was bursting at the seams with the desire to share with someone that he had managed score a date with the elusive and sought-after siren, Minerva Mink. Or, rather, the girl of his dreams, the lady of his heart, had deigned to favor him with a night of her companionship…

Wilford grimaced. He tried to make it sound…noble…in his head. It ended up sounding…cheap and crude…like a desperate guy engaging the services of a professional escort. This was…Mom. And things like girls and…Mom…had a way of becoming…complex.

She continued with her insistent motherly interrogation. "Have you been getting enough to eat? Are you remembering to take your vitamins and do your laundry?"

"Yeah, Mom. I've been keeping up on my chores and responsibilities. I'm not letting dishes pile up in the sink and I'm remembering to pick up my clothes and pay my bills."

"And how is your job working out?"

"`Sometimes I have to go into the office, but most of the work I can do online at home. I'm due for a promotion."

"That's wonderful news, Wilford. You know, your father and I have the greatest confidence in you."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Can I ask how you spent…last night?"

"Well…" The words caught in his throat. He didn't know how to tell her how he managed to actually obtain a date with the girl of his dreams…and he wanted to.

"Wilford? You're awfully quiet all of a sudden. Now, come on. I don't wish to pry into your life, but I can tell when something's bothering you."

"Well…there's this girl, Mom…"

It was evident by the tone of her voice. Her parental antennae instantly perked up. "Ohhhh. I see. Tell me more."

"Well…gosh, Mom…this is so…hard…I mean…you're my mom…and I don't usually talk about things like…this…"

"Would you like to talk with your father, dear? He's in the library, as usual, with his books, but I can get him for you."

If there was anyone worse with girls than Wilford himself, it was Dad. Wilford was a chip off Dad's old block. "No. That's okay, Mom…"

"Would you like a moment to compose yourself, dear?"

"Nah. I'll be okay."

"I'm always here for you, dear. Just take your time."

_*Sigh* "_Well…here goes. I really like her. She's really pretty. And nice. And I've been trying really hard to get her to go out with me…"

"Did you try sending her flowers?"

"Yeah."

"And serenading her?"

"Uh huh. I sang to her outside her window. That didn't go over very well."

"Did she see you…last night? While you were…outside?"

"Yeah. She did."

"I see. How did that go?"

"Well…she got all excited…then she got dressed up really pretty…and we ended up going for a walk in the moonlight."

"That sounds nice."

"We kissed…until sunrise."

"Hmmm. Did she see you…all the time?"

"Uh huh."

"And how did she take it?"

"Well…at first, she didn't believe it was really me. She kept asking what I did with the 'hunk'. She also kept fainting. She finally asked when the next full moon was. And I sort of explained to her how the lunar calendar worked. She said 'good things are worth waiting for.' "

"I see. Are you going to keep seeing her?"

"I guess."

By dint of gentle effort, persistent questions, and uncanny insight at piecing together stories from fragmentary replies, she had managed to draw out of her son the essential narrative.. And being a dutiful son, he now felt impelled to ask the wisest of the wise what his next course of action should be. "What should I do, Mom?"

And she answered in her firm matronly way. "Be how your father and I raised you, son. Always be a gentleman. Try not to let yourself be taken advantage of, but, on the other hand, always treat a lady courteously and keep your word to her. You've a good head on your shoulders and a good heart. I know life hasn't always been easy for you, but I'm confident you'll make out fine in the world."

There was a moment's lull.

"Wilford…can you come by the house this Friday for dinner? Or can your father and I drop by and take you out?"

"I can drop by, Mom."

"Good. There are some things we need to tell you. I think it'll help with you and your young lady."

"Thanks Mom. And thanks for the call."

"Until Friday, then. I love you, Wilford. Your father sends his love. Goodbye."

"Love you, too, Mom. Bye."

Wilford sighed with relief. A call from Mom was like a trip to the doctor; something at first to be dreaded, but ultimately for one's own good, and reassuring to know that all was well and on the receiving end of sage wisdom; and, one got a lollypop out of the deal.

And on her side of the telephone line, the mother of Wilford B. Wolf pondered deeply. This morning's conversation following a Full Moon Night departed radically from the usual script. So…it had begun; she had nursed her dear son through many bouts of dashed hopes and broken expectations. And someone had arisen from the female gender who had beheld with her own eyes the conflicted phenomenon that was Wilford Bellerophon Wolf.

Many girls had made his acquaintance. Few would give the bespectacled scholarly awkward boy even a second glance. Those who did were frightened by the monthly metamorphosis into a strapping toothsome young demigod. And those who were drawn by the young demigod were repelled by the morning reversion back into the bespectacled awkward kid. But someone had seen both sides of the coin…and was not repelled.

Wilford's mother studied carefully the account of the evening's events the way a thoroughness of a forensic investigator; the girl initially rejected his clumsy efforts at a romantic overture with definite hostility; and she changed her tune when his alter ego appeared.

"_Good things are worth waiting for," _the mystery girl had said. This might bespeak volumes; or it might indicate nothing. The girl might be fortune-hunting gold-digger; she might be after only a tawdry one night stand; or she might be the one wise enough to look through not one, but two contradictory appearances, to discover the pearl of great price. This girl might be the consort of a wolf both blessed and cursed by destiny. Only time would tell.

_**to be continued**_

This was square one of my tale. This was where I began composing. If there's anything that drives fan-writers, it's the relationshipping. We correct the defects and the oversights of the stories we're drawn to. We fix what's wrong and supplement what's right; which is a totally arrogant attitude regarding the source material, assuming we can improve on the original. If a written story is good enough to be published and widely enjoyed, then the writer must have some talent and insight. But within the parameters of fan-fiction, it is permitted to play fast and loose. And there is nothing more appealing, in my opinion, than two people drawn together in spite of themselves.

The question occurred to me during the initial writing; who is the more superficial? Is it Minerva, who wants a handsome husband with rich parents, or Wilford, who is attracted by purely sensual appeal? And am I being wearily moralizing for posing the question? All will be made plain. The purpose of any story at last one with some kind of redemptive framework, is for the characters to grow


	4. Chapter 4

I add to the cast of char's in this chpt.; Lola Bunny from Space Jam and Sawyer from Cats Don't Dance. Will explain in the author's notes at the close.

_**Wilford**_

_**chpt. 4**_

_**in the cold light of day**_

Unlike Wilford B. Wolf, Minerva Mink slept until late afternoon following the comedy of errors of their night together, apart, together…etc.

It had been a good sleep, and not one minute too long. Last night had been quite an escapade.

She smiled sweetly to herself and stretched dreamily. Speaking of dreams…a face had appeared over and over in her dreams. It was wolf's face, noble and confident, with a gleam in his eye and a striking smile.

There were more than a dozen messages on her telephone answering machine. It was the usual; Lawrence and Mau Mau and Trudy. She listened to them all while gazing dreamily outside her window at the sky over the lake, before erasing them.

One caught her ear; from Sawyer Somali.

"_Girlfriend! I was shopping on Rodeo Drive, and I ran into Lola! It's been forever since we got together! We have got to have a night out…just the three of us!"_

It took her back; Sawyer, Lola, and Minerva; three unlikely friends; a struggling actress, a rookie athlete, and a would-be…

Minerva was taken aback for a moment; what was she? A 'working girl'? A professional escort, accused by her detractors of plying the world's oldest profession? A gold-digger?

For a brief moment, Minerva Mink acknowledged to herself what she was, without self-rationalization or false remorse. She was a young woman endowed with moderate talent, minimal ambition, and massive sensual appeal; a young woman who passed the time doing temp jobs, waiting for either a sugar daddy or her ship to come in.

But Sawyer Somali and Lola Bunny were of a different mettle. They had known what they wanted to be since they could walk. Sawyer was about entertainment, especially singing and dancing. Lola was about sports, specifically basketball. The three had met while doing temp work for the Farley Wink Casting Agency. Despite the diverse background and interests, there was an instant rapport. Maybe it was because of a shared understanding of allure's double edge.

Sexuality was like a big inheritance. It could be used for both good and bad. It could be spent and misspent. It brought creatures out from tunnels and under rocks. A girl with good looks was always desirable. People would mess with her head so they could mess with her body.

Lola had found her big break in women's pro basketball. And was dating Bugs. Sawyer had found her big break in performing; when not on the road with her singing and dancing act, she was in a movie. And she was dating Danny.

Minerva sighed. She missed her two best friends. She knew what professional sports and entertainment did to relationships, and she hoped that her two best buds would be spared the heartbreak that seemed to dog Minerva's path in life. Bugs could be something of a sly rogue, and Danny was as fresh off the farm as the produce at Farmers' Market.

Actually, Minerva had often compared notes with Bugs on eluding pursuers. She had used on her perennial pursuer, Newt, the red-nosed Prussian Pointer Dachshund, the same tricks that Bugs had used on his two perennial pursuers, Elmer Fudd and Yosemite Sam. She had to admire his talent. He was a natural mimic, who, were he less scrupulous, could've been a slick hustler. Bugs' saving grace was that he was happiest at getting through life with enough effort to keep his stash of carrots stocked.

Minerva had found that she could exercise her sensual influence on Bugs, had she wanted to. But that brought up a whole complicated set of issues Minks were predators on the food chain, and rabbits were prey. Interspecies friendship was one thing; interspecies dating was a whole 'nother set of circumstances. And Minerva would never forgive herself had she two-timed her good friend Lola. Not to mention that Lola was not just another timid rabbit. She had a way of planting her foot on somebody's buttocks that could leave a permanent imprint.

And Danny…Danny was head over heels for Sawyer. He had eyes only for her, and was for all intents and purposes untouchable.

Bugs and Danny; they were both decent guys. Unpretentious. What you saw was what you got. Kinda like Wilford, in a way…

Minerva shook her head. No, no, no. So not going there.

It somehow seemed significant…Sawyer calling on the day after the whole Wilford wackiness. Lola and Sawyer were far better friends than the Trudy-and-Shirley crowd. Maybe the universe was sending

Minerva a message.

She had to check the mailbox. On opening her door to glance outside, she was surprised to find a bouquet of flowers on her porch. It was the handful of daisies Wilford had brought her a day ago. How did they get here? Obviously, he had been back, gathered them up, and left them there for her to find.

Her heart melted, and she sighed. But then her brain shouted frantic warnings. What if he were still around? She cast anxious glances around on the way to her mailbox. She was dressed in her customary robe. Instead of letting it slip off her shoulders, as was customary, she nervously gathered it up around her neck. Her heart shushed her brain. Wilford could be a nuisance, but he was not a stalker.

Nothing to deal with in the mailbox, thankfully. Just some third-class mass mailing flyers. Minerva dealt with them the way she dealt with most of her voicemail. The flyers hit the 'circular file' waste basket and the voicemail got deleted.

She grabbed a quick late-afternoon breakfast. She munched a slice of dry toast and chugged a small glass of orange juice, and another small glass of skim milk. She scanned her shelves for something for supper; the possibilities were distressingly slim; in her cupboard were cans of instant soup and baked beans; she grimaced; in the fridge were the half-gallons of OJ and milk, a Tupperware container of leftover casserole, and a takeout container of Chinese something…_**good heavens! **_was that the moo goo gai pan that Newt had dug his way to Beijing to get for her? That was forever ago! She wrinkled her nose in distaste; that would go in the compost pile.

In the freezer were two likely choices; a frozen package of sliced lean deli cold cuts and a gallon tub of Neapolitan ice cream. She could defrost the cold cuts and scarf them all…

Like Lola and Sawyer, Minerva worked hard to keep her figure, but unlike Lola and Sawyer, she was not handy in the kitchen…and they were lean cuts…and minks were meat eaters…

…Or she could go on a comfort food binge and scarf most of the ice cream. She sighed; comfort food binges were best shared with friends; she would have loved to have Lola and Sawyer over; they could watch old tearjerker movies, call out for pizza, empty the gallon tub of ice cream…and she could pick the brains of her best buds about how to deal with a changeling creature as a potential boyfriend.

Minerva had to get out of the house. She brushed out her hair, got out of her robe, and dressed in her pastel yellow off-the-shoulder sundress and big floppy hat. She took her usually leisurely walk to the edge of the lake. As on the day before, she sat down on her accustomed rock, retrieved her small diary from the spot where she tucked it in her big fluffy tail, and obtained its key from the place where she kept it, in the cleavage of her bosom. She was glad not to meet any other animals. Somehow the usual routine of the males of every vertebrate species going into hysterics at the sight of her, and the females walloping them…it lost its charm. She just wanted to be alone.

She reviewed yesterday's entry, with some ironic reflection.

Dear Diary,

Another lonely day is drawing to a close, and I have not yet found that…Special Someone. It seems to very unfair that I have no one to share life's tenderest moments; someone warm and kind; with really rich parents.

Oh, well; tomorrow is another day.

Your faithful servant,

Minerva Mink

But that was before sunset; yesterday's "lonely day' might have been drawing to a close, but last night's madcap mayhem was only beginning to 'dawn'.

She set pencil to page

Dear Diary,

…And she hesitated. How could she adequately summarize last night's events?

I met…

Who did she meet? Someone she already knew? Someone she had no idea existed? Someone who had a whole side to him she managed to overlook?

Her honest self clamored loudly. Did she really want the Someone Special with whom to share life's tenderest moments, someone warm and kind? Or did she want someone with a godlike physique, gorgeous hair, gallant deportment, and 'really rich parents'?

Was she shallow? Opportunistic? Even devious? Was she immature for wanting the whole package? A Prince Charming who would sweep her off her feet?

Life hardly offered package deals; not without compromising one's principles. It came down to what could she live without, or not live without.

A slow dry raspy voice caught her attention. "Minerva?"

Startled, she looked around. It was the turtle who lived at that part of the shoreline. It had come up from the shallows.

Minerva stammered. "Oh…hi. I was just out…I hope you don't mind…I come here to think…" She felt apologetic, as though she were intruding.

The turtle shrugged. "It's okay, dearie. We know you aren't one of the usual predators. You aren't into eating any of the reptiles or amphibians. You just drive the menfolk into a hormonal frenzy," it said, somewhat ironically, in a distinct East Coast twang.

Minerva sighed helplessly. "I'm…I'm sorry about that. I'm not out to steal anybody's husband. Honest."

"We know. Hey…can we talk?"

Minerva nodded.

The turtle paddled over to the shoreline. "My name's Shelly," it said, offering it's right foreleg.

Minerva 'shook hands' with it. "Pleased to meet you…Shelly."

The turtle shrugged. "Hey…call me Shel for short. My mother…God rest 'er…named me. Thought it was cute…like 'turtle shell'. Go figure."

Minerva smiled in spite of herself. Shel had a definite Jersey drawl and seemed very informal. Then she recalled seeing Shel before. "Say…didn't I see you last night?"

Shel smiled smugly. "Did you ever. You stuck your head underwater looking for Mister Right. Nearly startled me outa my shell…pardon the pun."

Minerva blushed. "Ohmygosh…I'm so sorry about that." She sighed. "I went a little crazy last night."

Shel laughed. "A** little **crazy? Honey…housecats on catnip are saner than you were last night!"

Minerva bristled irately. She didn't know whether to be put off or embarrassed at Shel's casual bluntness. And the turtle's Jersey accent reminded uncomfortably of Mar Mau, with whom the mink once had an ill-advised fling. "Catnip? **Really?**"

With a nonchalant swipe of her foreleg, Shel casually dismissed the whole thing. "Meh…don't worry about it, kid. We all act kinda crazy around the springtime. The birds an' the bees…like that."

Minerva resisted the urge to be curt herself. At least Shel didn't make _"birds"_ sound like _"boids"_.

To get past this uncomfortable stretch in the conversation, she asked, "So…Shel…what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Listen…the squirrels, birds, and frogs discuss stuff around here. And some of that discussion is about…you."

Minerva was more than slightly ruffled again. "Oh? Is that a fact?" she asked, sounding miffed.

Shel laughed; a deep raspy chuckle.

Minerva was surprised at how deep a sound could issue from such a small animal.

"I should apologize myself, Minerva," said Shel. She gave a sideways glance at the mink. "I don't suppose you like to be called 'Minnie'."

And Minerva began to glower.

Shel shrugged. "I thought not. Sounds too much like the Mouse…y'know…acts all prim and strait-laced…with the boyfriend Mouse…hangs out with the other 'Toon Crowd."

Minerva began to giggle nervously. She didn't know whether to be offended or not. Whatever other faults the turtle had, Shel was direct and to the point. The mink could respect that; most people either beat around the bush or went out of their way to be hurtful.

Shel glanced sideways again. "Laughter…laughter's a good thing…I used to love to hear my Shel laugh…he told me I had a gift for making him laugh…it did my soul good to hear him laugh…have I mentioned my husband was named 'Shel' too? Short for 'Sheldon'. Imagine that. I fell for a guy with the same name as me. Go figure." A tear trickled down Shel's leathery cheek. "Gosh, Minerva…I miss 'im…the big lug…he 'n' I lived to celebrate our centennial anniversary. We raised a lotta hatchlings together, him 'n' me. But I digress. My husband and my mother…God rest 'em both…they both used to tell me, 'Shel…you're too blunt for your own good…turtles were meant to be more cautious…that's why

God gave us shells…' "

Minerva had to cup her palm over her mouth so as not to laugh too loud. Shel switched channels like an impatient kid with a TV remote. Turtles were supposed to be slow of speech and thought, but Shel just gabbled on and on. It was both embarrassing and refreshing, this much candor.

"…But lemme cut to the chase. My point is this, Minerva. You can't help how men go crazy over you. And you can't help how you go crazy over some guys. Now I saw how you threw yourself at Vinnie. And he dropped you like a bad habit. Now, Wilford, he's crazy for you…and you're crazy for him…at least when there's a full moon. Not a lotta people knew his secret. It speaks well for him that he was able to keep it under wraps for this long. You had a wild night last night…and now you're confused. Is Wilford the guy for you…or isn't he? If you go after him, is it 'cause you only like him during a full moon? You're askin' yourself if you're a hypocrite."

Minerva sighed. "Is it that obvious, Shel?"

"Like a bright red cardinal sittin' on a snow bank. Listen, hon…we all got shells. Shells are a way of protecting ourselves. Shells are also a way of hiding what we don't want people to see. It cuts two ways. Now you want someone who will take care of you. There's nothin' hypocritical about that. We reptiles can get by on the single-partner-single-parent thing…heck, sometimes we abandon our own young. But you mammals…you need each other. Now I'm here to tell you that Wilford is a good man, like my Sheldon, God rest 'im, was a good man. But only you can decide if he's good for you. And the only way to do that is to come out of your shell."

Minerva was aware of many different feelings inside her, and many different responses struggling to get out. She still vaguely resented Shel's unsolicited and unabashed advise; it felt like the turtle was too…pushy. It was like having an interfering know-it-all relative, of the maiden-aunt variety. She resented the turtle for being too empathetic. It felt like a nosy know-it-all neighbor eavesdropping. And she resented herself for being too…transparent. She had always prided herself on being hard-to-read; her survival of all the stalkers, suitors, and predators depended on them not being able to second-guess her.

But at the same time, it felt reassuring to have someone who wasn't angling for favors; someone who still believed in happily-ever-after; someone who had made it work; someone who could articulate all the issues without Minerva having to embarrass herself by indulging in a long overwrought confession. And…the mink acknowledged…it was also a case of loneliness. She was used to resentment and jealousy from everyone else. But she would never be comfortable with it. She was vain, but she wasn't too proud to admit to herself that when it came down to brass tacks, being a 'gorgeous mink' really did suck sometimes. Only someone egotistical could _**be**_ comfortable with others' envy, resentment, and jealousy. And the way Minerva saw it, egotists deserved the inevitable life of loneliness and misery that egotism always seemed to result in.

So the mink did a rare thing; she let her guard down…which was not easy; minks are solitary by nature.

"Truth or dare, Shel. I'm looking forward to my date with Wilford, in another…" She thought a moment. "…Twenty-seven days. And I'm dreading it, too. What if we really hit it off? Or really don't hit it off? It's like the best of both worlds…a really fantastic guy who's guaranteed to show up once a month…just often enough for me to miss him, and not too much of a good thing…neither of us can get too possessive…and for that one night a month, he's all mine…the competition is almost nil…'cause what girl in her right mind is gonna go after a fella who's a geek for four weeks in a row and then becomes a really hot hunk of a man for one night…" She trailed off. "Am I sounding shallow, Shel? Like I'm just hunting for a meal ticket? Should I even let this thing get off the ground?

The turtle pondered. "Yeah. I see where you're comin' from. It's quite a plight." And pondered some more. "So…here's ol' Shel's advice. Yeah. Go for it. Let 'im wine and dine you, if he wants to. And if it doesn't work out…hey, at least you two had a good time, and hopefully, you remain friends. Wilford, he's not a backstabber. An' you don't sound shallow…any more than anyone else. Hey…we're all makin' our way through life. We're lookin' for that Someone Special. There's only one sure thing for everybody ever born…we all take the Dirt Nap. Like my Shel used to say: from dust we come and unto dust we return. It behooves us all to treat each other decently. Know what I mean?"

The mink laughed. Such an eclectic mishmash of advice. But there was sound and practical wisdom in it, too. "Yes, Shel. I know what you mean."

"So…hey…I gotta go hit the water and the muck…a turtle's moisturizer treatment, don'tcha know? More dry skin I do not need…not at my age. Enjoyed talkin' with ya, kid. Best of luck in the romance department. Look me up. We gotta do this again."

"I'll do that, Shel. And thanks."

And with a plunk, Shel submerged.

Minerva chuckled to herself. Who would've thought? Out of all the denizens of the local woods, those who hunted her, hounded her, hankered after her, and hated her, there were two who cared; a geeky werewolf and a gabby turtle. Like Shel said, she would be sensible; she would enjoy the ride while it lasted; she would try to not let her heart get too involved…

She gazed down absently at her diary. To her shock, she discovered she had unconsciously written the name Wilford over and over, in caps, in small case letters, italicized, big swirly letters, every way imaginable, and surrounded the names with drawings of hearts and flowers.

She gasped. Her romantic self was breaking rank with her sensible self. She gulped. She wanted to erase the evidence of her traitorous emotions. Instead, she glanced around guiltily, to see if any birds or other animals might have read the diary over her shoulder. She hastily snapped the little book shut without even bothering to sign the daily entry with the customary Your faithful servant, / Minerva Mink.

She tucked the book back into her tail and the key back into her bosom. She stole furtively back to her house, anxious lest any should somehow look into her heart and see there a raging conflict.

She had a single cold cut for supper. She spooned a big bowl of ice cream for dessert. And grimaced at the first spoonful. She put the bowl in the freezer. What she was hungry for wasn't food. And the day had been full of food for thought.

What Shel told her put it all into perspective:

"_...we know you aren't one of the usual predators...you aren't into eating any of the reptiles or amphibians...you just drive the menfolk into a hormonal frenzy...you can't help how men go crazy over you...and you can't help how you go crazy over some guys…"_

Maybe she _**was**_ a predator, in a symbolic way. Maybe she _**could **_help it, with a little effort. She sensed that she was at some kind of crossroads. Maybe it was time to try a change of direction. She didn't have to go off the deep end…like behaving like some dumpy old housewife with a dozen kids…or becoming a nun…

The mental image of herself in a nun's habit startled her for a moment; and made her laugh. But it sort of naturally of led to a next step…

Minerva leaned with her elbows at her window sill, gazing at the waning moon reflected in the still waters of the lake. She sighed. If only Wilford's lycanthropic effect lasted for the almost-full moon.

She came to a realization. What Lola and Sawyer and Shel had…Minerva wanted it too. An intangible richness, the kind of fulfillment that people who had didn't seem to care about material wealth.

In a way, she had already taken the next step by committing herself to waiting for the next twenty-something days. It was like taking a guy's class ring in high school. She had taken herself off the market. She was no longer for sale to the highest bidder.

And she did a thing…maybe for the first time in years…maybe in her life. She folded her hands.

"Now I lay me down to sleep…dear God…or Good Fairy…or Wishing Star…I don't mean to bother You…or get You mixed up with…y' know…the wrong, erm, Personage…You know who You are…"

She giggled nervously.

"…I'm so outa practice with this…see…the thing is…I think I want to sort of step out of my safety zone. I've been what they call a working girl…well…You knew that…and I'm not proud of it…I can't look my friends in the eye.

"Shel says You give us shells to keep us safe…well, I want to come out of mine.

"For me, this is a really big step. And I don't want to do anything too stupid, or break through any thin ice. I really need You to, Y'know, give me a nudge…when to do the right thing…when not to do the wrong thing…that kinda thing.

"That's all, I guess. Please take care of the people I care about. And take care of Wilford…both sides of 'im. Thanks for Your time. Amen."

She got her diary out. She knew what to write now.

Dear Diary,

I met someone I thought I knew; he's not the same wolf he was; it's Wilford.

It's only been a day; and something has changed. I'm not the same mink I was. That's Wilford, too.

And that's scary.

She fell asleep, still gazing at the moonbeam glimmer, with the remembered feel of strong arms embracing her waist, the remembered taste of a hot kiss on her lips, and the remembered sound of a dorky voice in her ear, singing a song…

"_Be my love / My turtle dove / The pretty little mink / I'm dreaming of…"_

_**to be continued**_

A / N

This chpt originally included only the scene with Minerva writing Wilford's name in swirly letters. But, hey; my stories snowball something fierce; that's part of why I'm Glacially Slow.

About Minerva's best buds, Lola Bunny and Sawyer; assorted fanart at DeviantArt associates Minerva Mink with Lola Bunny of Space Jam and Sawyer the cat from Cats Don't Dance. And that grouping just seemed to click, like Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. And as mentioned earlier, Marilyn Monroe is the inspiration for Minerva Mink. And since they're all Warner Bros. char's it's like it's still in the family.

About Sawyer's last name; I know Warner Bros. characters have just generic species last names, even in Cats Don't Dance, but Sawyer and Danny are already so individualized, what with their first names, I just decided to personalize their last names by using the names of cat breeds…yes, I picked out a last name for Danny, too.

Sawyer's employer, Farley Wink, the casting and talent agent, refers to needing a Tabby for a movie role.

Danny is a classic orange Tabby; even though pure orange Tabbies don't exist, the name is as obvious as can be.

Sawyer is a longhair with a fluffy tail (a trait she shares with Minerva.) The Persian is the classic longhair breed, but the name doesn't sound "American" enough. So color me parochial as well as compulsive; but 1930's Hollywood, the movie's setting, is as American a milieu as you're going to find.

There is a longhair American breed called the Somali. An African nation for a last name? Isn't that contradictory after all the reasons for not choosing 'Persian' for a last name? I run the names through my subjective mental scan. "Sawyer Persian". "Sawyer Somali". The latter name 'works' for me. Cat fanciers will recognize the association.

About Shelly Turtle; a generic turtle appears ever so briefly in Moon Over Minerva when she dunks her head underwater looking for 'Mr. Right'. Startled, the turtle ducks for cover. I started thinking of stereotypes I had seen portrayed in countless TV shows and movies, the women with the strong ethnic accent who gather together to trade gossip and bemoan their common lot; their kids don't visit, their aches and pains, etc; something with the blend of a Jewish mother and clichéd East Coast dweller.

Since cartoons are acceptable media for portraying stereotypes, like Minerva as the buxom sexpot, and Wilford as the bespectacled nerd, I figured it would be okay. I think Bugs Bunny's 'Joisy' accent made me think of East Coast. And I wanted the portrayal to be positive and hopefully a little humorous. And Shelly is what came out.

About Minerva's little 'prayer'; I know I'm a Born Again Bible Thumper, as stated in my FF-dot-net profile, and this tale is about both Minerva and Wilford maturing in their characters and outlook, but I wanted to keep it light, not loaded with religious and philosophical references like some of my other stories.

It's been several twenty-eight day periods since I started uploading this tale. Lord willing, I can shorten that. Vaya con Dios to my readers.


End file.
